


Light of the Season

by Kisleth



Series: Lights on the Water [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Nautical, Christmas Fluff, Decorating for Christmas, Deep-Sea Fishing, Lighthouses, M/M, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep-sea fishing/lighthouse AU. Not only is this Phil's first Christmas with Clint, it's his first time having the Gallantry Light be his actual <i>home</i>. And as a special surprise, he's home early enough for Christmas Eve.</p><p>Clint's been waiting to decorate the Light until he comes home, it's a new tradition he wants them to have together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light of the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BonitaBreezy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/gifts).



> Thank you to ParkerStark and Wintermute for beta'ing. 
> 
> This is a Christmas present for BonitaBreezy who has helped me a lot with working on my stories. So here, honey, for all the encouragement and late night giggles!

It’s hard to tell if the biting wind whips harder at his face on the shore or on the water. Truthfully, he’d rather not dwell on it. There are much more pleasant thoughts, like the fact that he got all his fish in just in time to come home for Christmas Eve, or how he’s walking up the path to Gallantry Light and the house where Clint is waiting for him.

 _Clint_.

It’s been too long. It’ll be even longer, he muses to himself, but only by a few more minutes. He doesn’t want to wake Clint up (and he knows he has to be asleep, since he hasn’t come out to greet him yet). Quietly, he locks the door behind him and toes his boots off after unlacing them. He watches the snow melt for a moment, his hands shoved into his armpits to warm them up. There is no way he’s going to crawl into bed and wake Clint up by putting cold anything on him.

He strips off his coat as he passes the kitchen table and drapes it over the back of ‘his’ chair. He’s almost single minded about going to Clint’s—no, _their—_ bedroom, but his eyes keep darting around to pick out his own things that Clint had easily meshed in with his own while Phil was out to sea. (He still feels bad about that, but Clint had been the one to convince him to hand over the key to his apartment and let him pack up all his things and move him into the Light. Of course there are still boxes here and there that he’s sure Clint didn’t know what to do with, and he’ll have to move stuff around to where he’d like it, but for now it’s their space, not Clint’s alone.)

He dumps salt-stiff jeans into the hamper next to the closet and pulls off his thick wool sweater to hang up. He’s mostly warm and Clint’s always a furnace, so he deems it okay to climb in. He shifts the blankets carefully and almost jumps when he meets a pair of bright orange eyes. He inspects the intruder, who looks to be a small Maine Coon kitten. It’s mostly silver with tabby striping in a darker shade down its back. The tip of its tail, its small muzzle, and its paws are all a deep grey. The kitten yawns at him and Phil continues to climb into bed.

The small feline simply rocks with the motion of the blankets and doesn’t move and it makes Phil smile that the kitten has better sea legs than Clint has ever displayed. He pulls the blankets up over his shoulder and slips an arm around Clint’s waist. There’s a sleepy murmur but he shushes him and kisses the side of Clint’s neck.

Together, they all sleep.

* * *

Phil wakes up to soft giggling and something running back and forth over his legs. The first thought that comes to mind is ‘ _too heavy for a rat_ ’. He cracks open an eye slowly and watches Clint mess with his kitten, a red ribbon in one hand. “Hey,” his voice is rough from sleep, but Clint’s face lights up in a particular way that makes Phil’s heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” Clint shifts closer and leans down as Phil moves up onto his elbows. They kiss, but it’s cut short because they’re both smiling too much. Clint pulls back with a chuckle, looking to the kitten, who is now batting at his arm to get attention.

Phil looks the young feline over now that it’s light enough for him to do so. He (or she?) is definitely a Maine Coon, with giant paws for such a tiny body and has a thick and soft looking silvery tabby coat. The eyes are even bigger and more orange in the early afternoon light. Its paws and nose are a dark grey, as well as the little tufts that stick off the tips of its ears. “What’s its name?”

“His,” Clint corrects, but he looks a bit uncertain anyway. “And, uh, he doesn’t have one yet.” The younger man clears his throat and scoops up the fluffy ball of energy and holds him out to Phil. “He’s your Christmas present. So, y’know, you don’t have to be all alone on your boat. I did my research, and he’s got double paws, which was common for ship’s cats, and he’ll stay plenty warm with all his fur, he can even easily walk on ice…”

Phil silently takes the kitten and holds it to his chest like a baby. The kitten reaches up with both his front paws to grab at the sailor’s hand. Once it’s in his possession, he bats at it and licks the side of Phil’s finger. “Thanks, Clint,” he leans in to kiss Clint. The kitten mewls in protest, even though they aren’t squishing him at all. He wriggles out of Phil’s grip to walk away as Phil lifts his hands to cup Clint’s face.

He strokes the stubbled skin with his thumbs along Clint’s cheek. The kiss deepens slowly, both of them tipping to the side and curling up with each other. The younger man tangles his fingers into Phil’s shirt, pulling him marginally closer with a faint hum. Their kisses are languid and almost sleepy. Neither of them show any inclination to getting out of bed.

“Glad you made it in for Christmas.” Clint murmurs after they’ve slowed to just resting their foreheads together. He nudges his nose against Phil’s and the older man can’t (and won’t) resist the soft smile tugging at his mouth. He hardly sees any point in stilling any of his emotions where Clint is concerned.

“And I’m staying for over a month.” Phil adds with a slowly widening grin. Clint jerks up and rolls them over so he’s pressing Phil into the bed.

“Really?” His eyes light up brightly and it makes Phil’s heart flip warmly. The hold he seems to have over Clint, sometimes it’s almost nerve wracking.

“Yeah,” Phil nods to just emphasize it more. His breath is knocked out of him with the force of Clint’s hug. “Easy, easy.” He’s laughing even as he says it. “What are you going to do with me for a whole month?” He teases.

“I’ll think of somethin’.” Clint grins. He climbs off of Phil when he hears a thump and skitter. “Cat,” he explains as he stuffs his feet into slippers and grabs his bathrobe to keep himself warm. “You should probably name him. I’m gonna make coffee.” He shuffles out of the room.

Phil lays there, thinking. _I have a cat,_  is the first part and it’s soon followed by, _Clint got me a cat—kitten—for Christmas_. And as if summoned, the feline scuttles in and leaps up onto the bed. Sort of. It more jumps and attaches itself to the side and scrambles up onto the mattress proper. “You,” he scoops the animal up, “are going to be getting into everything, aren’t you?” Innocent orange eyes look up at him.

Sighing, he climbs out of bed to follow Clint. He sets the kitten down so he can pull his sweater back on and slip on his own slippers. He picks the kitten up once more and carefully plops him onto his shoulder. This close to his ear, he can hear the sound of tiny claws plucking and digging at the shoulder of his sweater until he has a good grip. Still… Phil does his best to walk as smoothly as possible.

As he steps into the kitchen, the tree in the living room catches his eye. It’s a little lopsided, but healthy and cheerful. It’s also plain and undecorated. “Nice tree?” Phil half asks as he reaches for one of his mugs to pour himself some coffee.

Clint blinks at him slowly for a moment. “Oh!” He turns and sees the tree. “Yeah, I didn’t want to decorate it without you.” He says it like it’s obvious to leave it bare until Phil's around to decorate it with him. Whether Clint’s doing it on purpose or not, it’s touching and Phil wraps an arm around him. “Was thinking we could make a popcorn chain? The rest of the stuff I brought down. ‘s all been in the family for a generation or two.”

“You…” Phil sighs and slips his arm down around Clint’s waist to tug him in. He tucks his face into Clint’s neck to maybe hide a little bit as he tries to calm himself. He’s borderline overwhelmed here and if Clint’s tense stance says anything, it is saying that he sort of understands something is happening here.

“Me…?” Clint asks softly, wrapping warm, reassuring arms around Phil.

“ _Thank you_.” Clint hums in a way that asks the question for him. “For welcoming me into your family.” Because Clint’s only family is this place and the memories in it (and Natasha, but he won’t be officially meeting her until New Year’s). He’s honored to have this, even if Clint doesn’t quite see it how he does.

“Aww, Phil,” Clint mutters, embarrassment evident in his voice. Phil looks up to catch his ears reddening and he smiles. He leans up to kiss at the flushed shell of the man’s ear. “C’mon, decorations time. We gotta put ‘em up outside too.” Clint rummages around for a moment before pulling out an aluminum filled with popping corn. “Want to start the fire while I go dig out the outside lights and make sure none of them are burnt out?”

Phil nods and sets the kitten on the chair before kneeling by the fireplace. The tree is far enough away,  but Phil still side eyes it just in case because accidentally setting Clint’s home on fire seems to be the worst idea ever. He’ll probably suggest them to rearrange the furniture and tree some just in case regardless.

* * *

It takes about an hour to string all the popcorn and sort through the lights to find the one for the tree (and replace the dead bulbs, once they're located). Together they string one and then the other around the tree. Only after they finish and find out the outlet is too far away, does Phil remember that the tree might be a fire hazard so close to the fireplace. It takes a lot of careful moving (a lot of Clint’s furniture is big, solid, near-antiques) and a masochistic kitten running underfoot before they can rearrange the living room.

Phil scoops the kitten up when he seems to be contemplating a dive into the box of carefully wrapped ornaments—he can tell by the wriggle of the feline’s hindquarters. Clint pulls out ornaments one after the other. He tells Phil to hang them on the tree and the older man does as his Keep tells him the history behind each piece.

His great-grandfather, Charles, had done scrimshaw pieces whilst he was a sailor, whalebone in various shapes carved and inked in intricate scenes. They’d been sealed in a clear coat of something to preserve the color and inks; a tiny hole had been drilled into the  tops to make them ornaments. Charles’ son, Clint’s grandfather and the previous Keep, had been into whittling and made lots of little ornaments that his son, Harold, painted. Clint’s mother had blown the few glass ones in the box.

“I made this one.” Clint holds up a little lopsided star made of some sort of clay. “In grade school out of this salt and flour and water mixture.” There are a few others, painted but chipped in places. To be honest, all the ornaments had signs of wear in one way or another, but they all held stories of a family which is starting to feel more like Phil’s than his own on the mainland.

“My mother was a librarian,” Phil says finally. He’s never really talked about his family with Clint, but Clint never really mentioned his parents either. It seems like Christmas is the time to share. “My dad was a fisherman like me, but he ended up drafted for the Korean war. Mom was pregnant with my sister when he went out. He never came back.” Phil’s quiet for a moment. “Mom wasn’t the same. I practically raised Lizzie on my own.”

Clint’s quiet for a while. “Where’s Lizzie now?”

“She lives in California with her husband.” Phil places the last ornament and sinks onto the floor slowly to lean against Clint. He rests his head on Clint’s shoulder and see out of the corner of his eye the smile that tugs at Clint’s lips at the closeness. “I’ve always felt more at home here.” He doesn’t need to specify between Canada or the sea or Gallantry Light with Clint because he means them all.

“It is yer home,” Clint slurs a bit, the warmth clearly getting to him and making him drowsy, even though they haven’t been up all that long. “I added y’to the logbooks last night. Firs’ page. ‘ _The Accounts of Gallantry Light by Her Keeps: Clinton F. Barton and Philip J. Coulson_ ’.”

Phil wraps his arms around Clint, turning into him to embrace the man properly. His throat is tight with emotion and he feels as though his heart is swollen and full in his chest. “Thank you.”

Clint presses a kiss to his cheek. “Welcome to the family, Phil.” He smiles a little and nudges his nose against Phil’s jaw. “My Loner isn’t such a Loner anymore, huh?”

Phil laughs. “Sap.” Clint hums his agreement and stands. He offers his hands to Phil to help him up.

“C’mon, we’ve lights to put up outside. Give anyone out on the water a festive show.” Clint ushers Phil to the kitchen where all their winter clothing rests. The outside lights are in the shed (and hopefully not too tangled, although Clint had checked them all and they do light up). Phil shuts the door behind himself carefully so as to keep the kitten inside. Clint has already scrambled up the ladder with one end of the lights when Phil finds him.

It’s a relief that there are already hooks for the lights and it doesn’t take very long the line the edges of the house with the lights to make it akin to a gingerbread house. The bigger challenge is when Phil has to stand at the top of the ladder against the house and swing one end of the lights over his head to get enough momentum to toss it up to Clint. The younger man is laying on his belly on the walkaround on the Lighthouse to reach out under the railing.

The first two throws swing wide, but the third time's the charm. Clint crows happily and jumps up—this action costs him a light bulb, but he had spares in his pocket. He chuckles as he carefully threads them around the banisters to light up the entire place. Phil joins him a couple minutes later once he’s traipsed through their place to bring the lights and garland upstairs.

Phil places the garland, each red bow hanging off a clip on the rail made just for this purpose. The large wreath had already been brought into the watchroom, so Clint fetches it to hang facing the water. The lights plug into it to light up the red ‘holly berries’ and the bow itself. They finish the lights as the world grows almost too dark to see.

Clint steps up behind Phil, caging him against the railing. They huddle close and can barely feel the warmth of each other’s bodies through the layers of clothing and bite in the air. The Keep’s arm stretches out to point at something and Phil turns to look. “Lobster trap Christmas tree. Cute.” Clint chuckles in his ear.

“Good eye.” He doesn’t tack on ‘Hawkeye’ because that would just be a little too cheesy for even him.

“Have you thought of a name?” Clint asks out of the blue.

“For the cat? Yeah.” Phil nods and leans back against Clint a little more. “Starbuck. He’s a character from Moby Dick, the chief mate of the Pequod. He speaks common sense to Ahab, trying to get him do his job and not just seek revenge on the whale.”

“So he’ll be your chief mate and get you home quick and safe?” Clint hums. “I like it.” They stand there together for a little longer before heading back inside.

Phil heads down into the house and scoops up the complaining kitten. He stares him straight in the eye. “You’re Starbuck,” he tells the kitten. He gets an outstretched paw on his nose for his trouble. “Thanks.” He plops Starbuck on his shoulder and grabs Clint’s stein and a mug for himself. He also grabs the tray and two bowls. They’d put soup in the slow cooker while untangling lights so now it’s perfect to bring upstairs for dinner. Lastly, he grabs a small plate and a can of catfood. With it all balanced, he heads back up to the watchroom.

Clint’s already on the radio with someone and it takes a moment to hear Steve. “I don’t need to be inland for Christmas, I’ve got all the family I need right here.”

“Uh-huh, and that has nothing to do with Stark going back to New York for Christmas?” Clint teases. Phil sets the tray down on the table. His quick reflexes stops Starbuck from jumping into the soup. He tucks the cat under one arm and opens the can with his hands. The kitten mews and paws at it, trying to stick his head in before Phil can put it on the plate. He huffs fondly but soon enough the feline is eating and the two men have their soups cradled against their chests.

Steve splutters over the radio and they can hear Bucky and Dugan laughing uproariously in the background. “He got invited!” Bucky calls out and then there’s a scuffling noise. “Oh, Hawkeye, ya shoulda seen it! Stark was a stuttering mess an’ Steve turned as red as Rudolph’s nose!”

“He said he needed to finish fillin’ the boat.” Dugan adds. Phil knows why, of course. Around this time of the year, Steve and his crew donate some of what they catch to local group homes and the extra earnings for the end of the year are used to buy Christmas presents for those there as well.

“Stark was pretty put out.” Steve makes a dying whale noise of embarrassment and Phil can’t help but grin as Clint laughs.

“Steve’s breaking hearts?” Clint asks, leaning closer to hear all the juicy details.

“Nah,” Bucky says gleefully. “He’s goin’ to Stark’s New Year’s Eve bash. Got a plane ticket, gonna be all secretive and romantic gesture-ish.”

“Yes!” Steve breaks in. “Okay? Would you guys lay off? Jeez.” Clint rubs the back of his neck with one hand.

“Sorry, man.”

“No, no…” Steve sighs. “The guys’ve just been razzing me for days now. Bucky near pissed himself when I took the radio tie away from him so I could have Natasha get the plane ticket for me.” Steve’s quiet for a minute. “Think it’s too much?”

“Steve,” Phil interjects, silencing Clint’s comment with a hand on the Keep’s shoulder. “If you didn’t completely shut him down and make him think you’re not interested, then I think it’s a solid plan. It’s sweet, you going to him when he’s usually the one to come up here all the time. But, maybe have a backup place to stay?”

Steve laughs nervously. “Yeah, it’s all sorted. I just have to learn how to hail a taxi in the Big Apple, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a natural.” Clint reassures him. “A natural-born kid from Brooklyn or something.” They continue to chat for a few more minutes and then wrap things up with Christmas and New Year’s wellwishes.

“Enjoy that month off, I hope Stark’ll keep ya for all of it.” Clint adds just before Steve’s out of range and can’t reply.

“Sneaky.” Phil teases, nudging Clint.

“Maybe.” Clint agrees. He wraps an arm around Phil’s shoulders and together they watch the water and sip their coffee.

* * *

Around eleven it begins to snow, giant soft flakes that has Starbuck skittering across the floor in front of one of the ceiling-to-floor windows trying to attack them. Phil is half asleep in Clint’s arms, having dragged the cot over so he could sprawl out a little more. Clint brushes his lips over his forehead as he drowses off again.

When he stirs again, the clock says it’s just after midnight and Clint is singing softly. It takes him a moment to catch the words, but he chuckles when he recognizes the carol. “ _I saw three ships come sailing in, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day. I saw three ships come sailing in on Christmas Day in the morning_.”

“I don’t think midnight counts.” Phil mumbles and he can feel Clint’s chuckle through his back. Starbuck, who had curled up in his lap, raises his head for a moment but puts it back down, purring.

“Go back to sleep, Phil.” His tone is so fond and warm and is slips over him like honey. “We can argue about carols when the County Carolers show up.”

Phil snuggles down a little more and does just that.

**Author's Note:**

> The kitten looks almost like [this](http://static3.depositphotos.com/1003631/245/i/950/depositphotos_2450504-Cat-portrait-Main-coon.jpg)!


End file.
